


Wrong In The Dark

by F4nd0mG33k17



Category: Mission: Impossible (Movies)
Genre: Accidental Touching, Benthanweek2019, Canon typical injuries, Courtesy of Nancy; Disaster Bi Accidentally Feeling Up His Coworker, Day 6: Confined Space, First Kiss, Fluff, Hand Jobs, Handcuffs, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Panic Attacks, Smut, Sort Of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-17
Updated: 2019-08-17
Packaged: 2020-09-06 03:35:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20284735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/F4nd0mG33k17/pseuds/F4nd0mG33k17
Summary: Benthan Day 6; Stuck in a confined space"He’d admit to having had more than one dream involving Ethan and handcuffs, but it usually doesn’t go like this."A mission brings Benji and Ethan together - literally, at first, and then more figuratively.





	Wrong In The Dark

**Author's Note:**

> Benthan week has been in full swing and I am HERE for it!
> 
> Here's my contribution for Day 6. It's been a bit rushed so if you spot any errors I missed then please let me know! E rating is to be safe, I wasn't sure quite how far to push the bounds of an M classification and didn't want to make anyone uncomfortable.
> 
> Hope you enjoy! Kudos and comments appreciated as always <3

Sometimes, Benji seriously wonders how they’ve managed to save the world so many times. This op was meant to be easy. _1600 flight to Taiwan, a simple recon mission, in and out in 24 hours_, Hunley had said. That was nearly three months ago, and the last hour has seen him and Ethan sat on a cold cement floor in the basement of some derelict warehouse in the middle of UBG triad territory. He’s hot, and tired, and pissed off. He wants a shower, a bed, and to punch Hunley in the face. In that order. 

He also really wants out of the handcuffs their captors had bound him with; one pair keeping his own hands together, and a second chaining him to Ethan. The restrains had made escaping far more challenging than it needed to be, forcing him and Ethan to move as one as they’d picked off the low level thugs that had been left to guard them. Ethan had managed to break the handcuffs keeping his own wrists together more by luck than judgement; when wrapping his hands around the chamber of an attacker’s gun in order to defend himself, the young lad had put a bullet through the chain and inadvertently helped them out. 

Benji had had no such luck in freeing himself. Ethan had taken the gun as he’d knocked the boy out, but the slide had kicked back as he’d held their cuffs aloft and pulled the trigger, the magazine empty. They hadn't had time to search for another gun before backup had been hot on their heels, forcing them to flee while still stuck together.

Benji zones out slightly as they run, body following Ethan on autopilot while his mind wanders and he ponders the peculiarity of their situation. He’d admit to having had more than one dream involving Ethan and handcuffs, but it usually doesn’t go like this. For starters, Ethan’s usually cuffed to one of their headboards, and not Benji’s own wrist, and there’s not normally anyone _shooting at them_. The last thing on his mind in the scenarios his subconscious dredges up for him is running away. Right now, though? That’s his number one priority. 

Ethan darts to the left as a bullet whizzes through the space his head occupied no less than a second ago. Benji zones back in, mentally reallocates _running away_ as his number two priority, and makes _not getting his arm ripped out of it’s socket_ the new number one as Ethan wrenches him to the right again. He stumbles gracelessy as they veer sharply down a new corridor that looks exactly the same as the last three Ethan had dragged him down. 

“Do you actually know where you’re going?” he pants, the running taking its toll on him. They’d only seen the blueprints for the building they’re currently in very briefly. Benji’s been lost since the moment they’d been captured and dragged into the depths of the basement levels. 

Ethan had been confident enough in getting them up to ground level once he’d taken care of the lackeys left behind to guard them, but Benji’s beginning to doubt that even he could have memorised so complex a layout in such a short amount of time. Ethan favours throwing his shoulder against a nearby door over answering him. 

Benji would be impressed by the fact that they stumble out into the street once it swings open if he wasn’t so preoccupied trying not to fall on his ass as Ethan’s momentum translates through their bindings. He’s just about righted himself when Ethan laces their fingers together and sends his head spinning for a totally different reason.

“Benji, c’mon. We need to move. Those guys aren't going to be far behind us and we’re kind of at a disadvantage here.” He lifts their hands, shaking them in a way that makes the chain connecting their wrists _clink_ and jostles Benji’s shoulders. 

“Right, yeah, sorry. Which way?”

Ethan tugs him to the left, more gently than he’s been leading them thus far, and Benji realises that having their hands clasped together actually helps reduce the constraints of the cuffs. The bracelet hangs more freely from his forearm now the tension is out of the chain. His wrist stings where the metal had bitten into his skin as they’d fled, but one glance at Ethan’s arm tells him he got the least of it. He’d initially thought Ethan’s hand had been damp with sweat but now he’s pretty sure at least some of the moisture he can feel is blood. The thought makes Benji’s stomach lurch. There’s nothing he can do about it until they’re safe, though, so he pushes his concern aside as much as he can and redoubles his efforts in keeping the pace up.

Ethan leads them down one narrow alleyway after another with no real pattern to his turns. Their comms had cut out a while back and so Benji simply has to trust the other agent to get them out of this; Ethan’s track record makes it pretty easy to do so.

A while passes in silence broken only by the soft taps of their footfalls and the occasional _clink_ of the chains between them. It takes Benji longer than he’d care to admit to realise that he hasn’t heard any noises that would indicate pursuit.

“I think we lost—“ He’s interrupted by a yell before he can even finish the thought, and his Mandarin is rusty as hell but he recognises enough words to know the speaker is barking orders.

“Shit.” Ethan, having presumably understood what was said, pulls him along with a renewed sense of urgency. The voices are getting closer now, and they’re totally exposed where they are. Benji ignores the burning of his lungs and focuses on scanning the area for somewhere to hide, before finally settling on a door. He recognises characters that translate to _power supply_ and takes a shot in the dark that any equipment that once resided there will have been stripped away when the warehouse district they’re in had been shut down.

Ethan moves with him without him needing to say a word. Luck must be on their side, because the door swings open, without so much as a creak of metal, to reveal a small but thankfully empty room. Ethan eases the door shut once they’re ensconced inside, pitch darkness surrounding them in an instant.

Benji waits in tense silence as the shouts and footfalls of their pursuers move closer, chest still heaving and sweat dripping down his back from a combination of nerves and the relentless humidity of Taipei in June. The fact that the entirety of Ethan’s body is pressed firmly against his doesn’t help, but personal space is not a luxury afforded to them in their current predicament.

The rise and fall of Ethan’s chest against his back is perfectly even, and he focuses on matching the older agent’s breathing to calm himself. It’s working, until a sudden _bang_ from somewhere entirely too close to their hiding spot has him jolting. Ethan’s uncuffed hand closes over his hipbone and squeezes gently.

“We’re okay, Benj,” he whispers softly.

A minute ticks by before Benji feels like he can breathe again, and then each one that follows sees him relaxing exponentially. Ethan’s hand doesn’t move from his hip the whole time. The touch grounds him. It also makes him that much hotter. Benji usually loves the way Ethan radiates heat, but right now it’s making him feel like he might be at risk of passing out.

“_Ben— Ethan? Do you copy?_”

They both flinch as Will’s voice crackles through their comms suddenly.

“We copy. What happened?”

_“Luther and I ran into some trouble. Signal interference. I think we’ve got it sorted now, though. You guys okay? We’re picking up a lot of hostiles in your area.”_

“No shit,” Benji mutters, loud enough for only Ethan to hear.

The other agent grins, but responds to Will with the level of professionalism expected of a team leader.

“Yes, we also hit a slight snag. Some low level thugs caught us snooping and cuffed us. They went to get Tsai, but we got out of there before they came back. We’re in some sort of—” Ethan trails off, clearly unsure of where they are.

“It’s an old power supply closet,” Benji clarifies.

There’s the click of computer keys, and then Will’s voice again. “_Ah, yeah. I’m looking at the blueprints for the factory now. I think we know where you are. Our scan is showing that all the hostiles have retreated back to the other side of the compound. Do you need directions to the exfil point?”_

Ethan finally moves back, and there’s a thud as he goes for the door. Benji braces for the setting sun to burn his retinas after becoming accustomed to the darkness. Nothing happens.

“Huh,” Ethan murmurs, “That might not be all that useful.”

_“Wow, okay. I’m only trying to help!”_ Will snipes.

“No, Will, that’s not— We’re locked in here.”

“What?!” Benji squeaks, panic rising in him again.

“I think the door must only open from the outside,” Ethan muses, calm as ever. To Will, he says, “You and Luther are gonna have to come and get us.”

_“Oh, right. Luther—”_ The rest of Will’s sentence is lost to static, clearing only long enough for Benji and Ethan to make out a burst of yelling, a pained grunt, and finally the ring of gunshots. There’s silence, more static again, and then Will’s voice is back in fits and starts. _“We’ll— to you, but— company— be a while. Hang in—”_

The link cuts out with a shrill whine that has Benji yanking his now-dead earpiece out with a wince. The rustle of Ethan shifting against him suggests he does the same.

“Well that’s just _great_!” Benji snaps, sarcasm dripping from every word.

“Ouch, Benj. You could at least try to sound less dismayed at the concept of spending time with me…” Ethan jokes, doing his best to lighten the mood. Benji finds himself huffing a laugh in spite of his annoyance at their whole situation.

“I guess it could be worse,” he muses, the light teasing helping distract him from how uncomfortable he is, “I’d rather be stuck with you than Will.”

“Praise indeed!” Ethan snorts a laugh. Benji finds himself grinning even as he shakes his head.

Silence falls again, as oppressive as the darkness and heat of their temporary prison. Benji does his best not to fidget but he doesn’t manage to hold out longer than a few seconds. Ethan lets him shift for a little while without comment - longer than Benji had expected, in all honesty - but one can only take being elbowed in the ribs so many times.

He snaps the fifth time it happens, the confined space having almost as much of an affect on him as it does Benji but for the fact that he can panic in silence for longer than the younger man. “_Benji_, for the love of—”

“I’m _sorry_, okay?! I just fucking hate—” Benji cuts himself off before he can embarrass himself further.

“What’s wrong?” Ethan asks softly, seeming genuinely concerned for him and maybe even a little contrite for losing his patience.

Benji shuts his eyes tightly. Ethan can’t see his face given that his back is to the older man’s chest, but he still feels uncomfortably exposed. His skin is prickling, and his throat feels tight, and he really can’t cope with having a panic attack right now. He manages to squeak out, “I don’t do so well with being trapped, Ethan.”

Ethan makes an aborted movement behind him, pressing a little closer before pausing. He sounds strangely timid as he murmurs, “Does it help if I touch you? I always find that contact grounds me when I’m, um, _struggling_.”

“I, er— I don’t know. Could you—“ his brain chokes over the words _touch me_, really not needing to add to their situation by letting his mind go _there_.

Blissfully unaware of the turn Benji’s thoughts are trying to take, Ethan shuffles closer to him and grasps his hip like before.

“Okay?” he asks, fingers brushing gently back and forth.

“Y—yeah, that’s— good.”

He comes down slowly, Ethan’s touch giving him something to focus on instead of the panic that had started to grip him. The darkness seems less oppressive when he blinks his eyes open again and realises he can make out more of their surroundings than before. The space is still arguably too small for two grown men, especially when one of them is Ethan and his overwhelming presence, but it feels slightly larger now that Benji can actually see the walls.

Benji blows a long breath out of his nose and feels the last of his panic escape with it. He’s still not over the moon about being stuck, but it’s more of a general annoyance at having to stand still than anything truly concerning.

“Sorry about that,” he whispers, embarrassed at having lost it in front of Ethan.

“Hey, you have nothing to be sorry for.” Ethan reassures. He pauses for a moment before adding lightly, “Except maybe the way your bony elbows are digging into my stomach.”

Benji nudges one aforementioned elbow back until Ethan squirms against him, the last of the tension draining away as the other man yelps indignantly and grips his hip tighter in an attempt to subdue him.

Benji’s playful teasing ends abruptly when Ethan lets out a strained gasp. He curses the cuffs when he can’t turn around and check what’s wrong, and has to rely on asking Ethan instead.

“It’s nothing, Benji.”

“Oh, yeah, sure,” he deadpans, “You’re hissing in pain over absolutely nothing. C’mon, Ethan, talk to me.”

Ethan sighs. “It’s just the cuffs, Benji. There’s nothing you can do about it until we get them off, though. I’m fine. Honestly.”

Now that he’s not literally running for his life, a thought occurs to Benji.

“Ethan, did they search you?”

“When they cuffed us? Yeah. My gun is gone, obviously, and my knife. Oh, and my belt. Why?”

“Just— I might be able to get us out of these cuffs. We’re still gonna be stuck here until backup arrives, but at least we might be able to get a little more comfortable.” He wriggles as best he can without hurting Ethan more, but it doesn’t help answer the question in his mind. He can’t reach his belt with the way that his hands are cuffed to Ethan’s.

“Could you do me a favour?”

“Yeah? What do you want me to do?”

“I started keeping more weapons on me since the whole thing with Lane. I’m willing to bet they took my knives, but they didn’t take my belt. I’m hoping that means they didn’t search me as well as they did you, which I resent on principle, but I’ll overlook my pride if it means they didn’t take what I need. Can you get your hand under my belt? Left hand side, over my hipbone. I can’t reach without hurting you more when I pull on the cuffs.”

Ethan’s free hand slides away from his right hip as he speaks, fingers running around to the left side instead, the light touch raising goosebumps even through Benji’s T-shirt. There’s barely enough room for them to shuffle so that Ethan can even reach his belt, and Benji wonders how on Earth he’s going to manage to wriggle his fingers beneath the stiff leather with how snug it is against his body in order to serve its purpose and hold his pants up. The point is rendered moot a second later, regardless.

“Ethan,” he protests, more amused than concerned when Ethan seems to miss the mark and slides over the edge of his abdominal muscles, far too high to be useful, but then Ethan corrects his course and moves his hand lower.

“_Ethan!_” Benji thinks maybe he should be embarrassed by the pitch of his voice around the other man’s name, but there are far more pressing matters at hand than the fact that he sounds like a prepubescent teenager. Such as the fact that Ethan’s hand is definitely not on his _hip_.

Ethan’s hand stops moving instantly, the rest of his body feeling far too close all of a sudden. He misunderstands him entirely, though.

“What is it?” Ethan demands. “Are you hurt? God, Benji, please don't tell me you’re hit! Why didn't you say anything?!” He sounds frantic. His hand starts moving again, checking him for wounds, systematic and gentle. Benji has to suppress a whine as he presses down a little more and slides lower still, lest he worry Ethan further.

“I’m not hurt, Ethan.” He insists, voice wavering only slightly.

“Then what’s up?”

Benji fights down his knee jerk response, knowing Ethan is unaware of the irony in his words, and says instead, “Where do you think your hand is right now, Ethan?”

“On your leg?” Ethan sounds adorably confused, which really isn’t helping.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, drawing out the vowels, “That’s-- um-- No.”

“Then, where-- _Oh_. Fuck. Really?”

Benji’s amused by how confounded Ethan is, but he can’t manage a laugh. Not when Ethan _still hasn’t let go_.

“Benji--”

There’s a loud _crash_, and then the groan of metal as the door to their hiding space is wrenched open. Sunlight floods in, blinding Benji for a good minute. When he finally manages to blink the spots from his eyes enough to actually make out the figures stood in the doorway, he recognises Will and Luther. Ethan had leapt into a defensive stance, but deflates once he realises there’s no threat. Benji’s hands hang awkwardly between them thanks to the cuffs.

“I don't even think I want to know,” Will drawls, “Let’s just get back to the safehouse.” He turns away without another word. 

He and Ethan barely manage to look one another in the eye for the duration of the car ride, which is actually kind of impressive given they still haven’t managed to get the cuffs off and as such are mere inches from one another.

Luther hands his side arm over silently as they pull into the safehouse garage. Ethan puts one bullet through the chain linking them together, and then a careful second through the one between Benji’s hands, before following Will inside. Benji’s only managed to take one step into the living room when a first aid kit comes flying at his face. He snatches it out of the air before it can inflict damage and arches an eyebrow at Will.

“Patch Ethan’s wrists up, and get him to look you over. Sleep. Luther and I will go over the data we recovered and report to Hunley. Expect new orders in the morning. We might make it out of this shithole of a safehouse by nightfall tomorrow, if we’re lucky.” He doesn't actually say _dismissed_, but his tone brokers no arguments. Ethan slinks toward the bedroom they’ve been sharing without a word, while Benji stops at his desk to grab a screwdriver before following.

By the time he joins Ethan in their room, the other man has already changed into a pair of sweatpants, ready for bed. His wrist is caked with dried blood, but it isn’t actively bleeding anymore, so Benji takes the time to strip down to his boxers and throw a clean shirt on before settling beside him on the bed and opening the first aid kit. He pops his own broken cuffs off before releasing Ethan’s as well. Then he sets about cleaning his wounds.

Ethan jolts slightly at the first touch of Benji’s hands to his arm, having clearly been absorbed in his thoughts. He glances up with a shy smile that Benji returns despite the awkward atmosphere. Benji busies himself with finding a cloth square and dousing it with antiseptic to avoid the intensity of Ethan’s green gaze.

“Alright, you know the drill; this is gonna sting like a motherfucker.”

Ethan takes it well as Benji brushes lightly over the blood, the stiffening of his spine the only tell of his discomfort. Only once most of the redness is wiped away and Benji can clean the actual wound does he let out a hiss of pain. Benji’s stomach clenches at the noise but he bites his lip and carries on.

“I know, I’m sorry. Nearly done, promise.”

Ethan grits his teeth and bares the rest of his tending in stoic silence, the tendons in his wrist flexing as he curls his hand into a fist in Benji’s lap.

Now that the wound is clean, Benji can assess how bad it is. He twists Ethan’s hand carefully back and forth so that he can follow the cut all the way around. It’s messy, all ragged edges and raw skin, but shallow. 

“Good news is you don’t need stitches.”

Ethan snorts. “You and I both know I’ve had far more stitches than that would have warranted before.”

“True,” Benji allows, “but the vast majority of those were done by people with more training than me.”

Ethan’s expression quickly changes from one of amusement to something more serious. Benji feels his gaze keenly, and the humidity in the air feels suddenly inconsequential compared to the electric sensation creeping over his skin.

“And yet, I’d trust you over any one of them.”

“A terrible decision, really,” he quips. Benji’s being purposefully obtuse, but he needs to focus on bandaging Ethan’s wrists, and not the storm of emotion that's been swelling in his chest ever since they got locked in that damn closet. Ethan watches him closely as he covers the wound with a strip of gauze, and then begins to wrap a length of bandage over the top. The scrutiny is enough to make Benji’s hands shake.

The bandage is long, and several minutes tick by as he winds it carefully around Ethan’s wrist, but it eventually it runs out, and with it so does Benji’s period of plausible avoidance. He devotes an obscene amount of concentration to tying the ends in a double knot before manning up and meeting Ethan’s eyes.

“Look, Ethan--”

“Benji, I--”

They talk over one another, before stopping at the same time. Ethan huffs a laugh and motions for Benji to go first. Benji forgets every word he’s ever known in the face of having to explain himself, and thinks ruefully that only Ethan could ever manage to render him speechless. _Sod it_. He closes the space between them and fits his mouth to Ethan’s before he can talk himself out of it again.

The kiss is timid, a soft press of lips that lingers only a few seconds before Benji pulls away. He takes in Ethan’s expression once he manages to force his eyes open; he doesn’t look anywhere near as elated as Benji feels, just vaguely dumbfounded. _Shit_.

“Fuck, Ethan-- I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have--_mpfh_”

Ethan fists a hand into the front of his tee before he can make his escape, cupping his jaw and leaning in. His mouth slants over Benji’s far less gently than when their roles were reversed. After a minute of inaction, the sweep of Ethan’s tongue against his bottom lip finally pushes Benji to return the kiss. He opens his mouth eagerly and flicks his tongue against Ethan’s as he threads his hands tightly into the back of the older man’s hair. Ethan growls into his mouth when he tugs at the silky threads and pulls him closer until Benji has no choice but to settle himself over his thighs.

Benji ignores his lungs’ demand for oxygen until passing out becomes an immediate concern, shoving Ethan away and gasping for air. Ethan, undeterred, tilts his head back and sucks roughly at the side of his throat. His other hand moves away from where he’d been cradling Benji’s lower back and crawls up his thigh. Ethan stops marking up his neck long enough to pull back and look into his eyes, clearly waiting for Benji’s permission.

Benji takes a second to revel in the rush of having Ethan hanging on his reaction before putting the both of them out of their misery and nodding vehemently. He yelps indignantly as Ethan locks an arm around his waist, lifting him up and flipping them over like he weighs nothing. He’d protest, but Ethan’s pressing him into the mattress and kissing him desperately before he can blink, reaching under him to grab the roll of bandage that had tipped out of the first aid kit with their abrupt change in position.

They break the kiss only long enough for Ethan to yank Benji’s shirt over his head, and then Ethan’s pressing down against him and rolling his hips as he licks into his mouth again. Benji arches up with a moan, reaching for him, but Ethan cuts the movement off by grabbing his wrists. His hands slide upwards, lacing their fingers together and pressing them into the pillow above Benji’s head in a way that locks him in place.

Ethan’s holding him down gently enough that Benji knows he could get out if he wanted to, only providing the illusion of control, but Benji’s content to let him take whatever he wants. His chest heaves as Ethan’s torso drags against his own as he grinds their hips together.

Ethan untangles their fingers so that he can catch both of Benji’s wrists in one of his hands, leaving his other one free. Benji absently notes the _snick_ of a bottle opening, but he’s much too busy swirling his tongue around Ethan’s mouth to get further than simply acknowledging the sound. He jolts a moment later when slick fingers trail down his abdomen. It's the only warning he gets before Ethan’s hand dips under the waistband of his boxers and curls firmly around his cock.

His hips jerk up into the touch of their own accord, and he whines, “Fuck _me_!”, without thinking much of it.

Ethan growls into his ear and tightens his grip. “Next time,” he rasps, voice more wrecked than Benji’s ever heard it. The heated promise sends a shiver up his spine but he doesn’t get a chance to dwell on the idea when Ethan sets a quick rhythm that pushes the ability to think far out of his reach.

“Shit, Ethan. Fuck. _Yes_.” He babbles incoherently as Ethan jerks him off. He can’t seem to keep his mouth shut, or his hips still. Ethan strokes him like he knows exactly how he likes it. Maybe he’s just obscenely good at this -- it’s _Ethan_, after all -- or maybe Benji simply can’t fathom having Ethan’s hand around his cock and not enjoying it. Either way, he’s right on the edge in what feels like seconds.

Benji’s just about to try and stutter out a warning, when Ethan curls his wrist in a way that makes him see stars, and gasps in a way that makes Benji feel as if he’s been doused with icy water.

He stuggles to push through the haze of arousal enough to pant out, “Stop --_fuck!_\-- Ethan, stop!”

Ethan stills instantly but doesn’t move his hand away. He’s clearly confused by Benji’s sudden objection, especially given how close he was a second ago.

“Benj? What’s wrong?”

“Your wrist, Ethan. You’re hurt.” He shakes his head, annoyed at himself. “I’m three seconds away from cumming, and you’re in _pain_ because of it!”

“Im fine!” Ethan protests. His voice softens when their eyes meet and he realises how bad Benji feels. He tries a different approach, knowing Benji’s too stubborn to take his assurances at face value, and lowers his voice to a husky whisper, “I just want to make you feel good, Benj.”

Benji screws his eyes shut and groans as Ethan’s thumb brushes the underside of his cock to emphasise his words. He withstands the teasing strokes for approximately three seconds before caving, as Ethan had probably expected. “Okay, fine.” He knocks Ethan’s hand away with no small amount of effort, letting his own find purchase on the older man’s hips. “But we do this my way,” he challenges.

Ethan nods his agreement, goes willingly as Benji tugs him closer. He watches intently as Benji’s hands wander over his chest and abs before dipping down to toy with his waistband. Benji fixes him with big, dark eyes as he drags his hand over the front of his sweatpants. The touch nearly does Ethan in then and there.

He knows Benji’s testing him. He refuses to give in first, but can’t help the way his eyes close as Benji strokes him through the fabric. The whimper that he lets out when Benji’s grip tightens seems to be enough of an admission of defeat, and the younger man finally moves to shove his pants and boxers down his thighs. They tangle around his ankles but he couldn’t care less because Benji’s stroking a slick hand over him the next second.

Benji kisses him sweetly, even as he twists his hand with increasingly dirty jerks of his wrist. Ethan’s shoulders begin to shake with the awkward way he’s holding himself up. He shifts in an attempt to relieve some of the strain and whines when Benji pulls his hand away.

“Lean on your forearms,” he instructs.

Ethan does as he’s told. He settles his forearms flat against the pillow Benji’s head rests on, feeling the new position put more of his weight on his elbows rather than his sore wrist. It also brings him closer to Benji, meaning the younger man doesn't have to stretch away from the mattress to kiss him anymore.

Ethan’s too distracted by the sting of Benji’s teeth against his bottom lip and the wet slide of their tongues to be bothered by the gentle pressure on the bottom of his back, until Benji’s nudged him down enough that he can wrap his hand around both of their cocks. He breaks the kiss with a rough moan that makes Benji’s chest shake with laughter.

“How’s your wrist?” Benji murmurs, voice deceptively casual, like he hasn’t got his hand on Ethan’s dick.

“F--fine,” Ethan stutters.

Benji hums in response, pulling him into a messy kiss as he starts stroking slowly. Ethan moans into his mouth and clenches his hands into fists against the pillow. He grinds his hips down against Benji’s without meaning to, but is rewarded by Benji tightening his grip and finally moving his fist faster.

Benji’s hand slides over the top of his dick, strokes different to the way he touches himself but bringing him to the edge far more quickly than he’s used to, while the grinding of their hips has Benji’s cock nudging at the spot on his underside that never fails to make him lose his mind. Ethan drops his head down to the crook of Benji’s neck, breath spilling warm over the younger man’s pale skin as he tries to smother his shaky pants and moans.

“_Benj,_” he warns, feeling his abs clench as his thrusts lose their rhythm.

“Fuck, Ethan, me too.” Benji’s thumb slides roughly over the head of his cock as he rasps, “Cum, Ethan.”

Ethan’s not sure if it’s the touch or the demand that does him in, but he shoots hot and wet over Benji’s abs either way. He moans desperately as Benji keeps tugging even though he’s spent, until he’s spilling into his hand and all over Ethan’s cock. Feeling Benji cum proves to be too much, and Ethan’s arms finally give out on him all together. They collapse against the mattress is an ungainly tangle of limbs. Benji brushes gentle fingers down the length of his spine with one hand, while the other gently circles his injured wrist.

“S’fine, Benj,” he slurs, already half asleep. He feels Benji settle the comforter over them both before taking the hand from his spine and carding it through his hair instead. The slow caress makes an interesting contrast to the pounding of Benji’s heart beneath his ear, the strange symphony knocking Ethan out faster than any drug ever has. He floats on the very edge of consciousness for a while, waiting until Benji’s breathing evens out in sleep before drifting off completely.

\-----

Benji sleeps soundly for the first time in months, Ethan’s weight on his chest too comforting for him not to. Ethan’s tracing random patterns over his collarbone when he finally comes to.

“Morning,” he grumbles, voice thick with sleep.

“Hey,” Ethan returns, pushing upright so that their eyes can meet. He’s grinning, green eyes still soft with sleep, hair stuck up in every direction.

Benji can’t help but muse, “We should get locked in cupboards together more often.”

Ethan shakes his head but can’t stop the laugh that bubbles out of him. He twists their fingers together under the sheets and fits their mouths together in a deep, lazy kiss.

“If it’s all the same to you,” he murmurs when they break apart, “I’d rather you just ask me to fuck you next time.”

\-----

When they finally manage to stumble out of their bedroom, Luther takes one look at the both of them and slides a $20 bill across the kitchen table. Brandt pockets it with a smirk and finishes his coffee before relaying their new orders.


End file.
